Absence Makes the Heart Grow Stronger
by SacredAir
Summary: She had missed this, it seemed. She had forgotten what friendship felt like. After all, ruthless assassin or not, she was human, right? Tony/Ziva
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first NCIS fanfic, written in the heat of the moment straight after I watched **_**Good Cop, Bad Cop**_**. There is still another chapter to come, but I don't yet know if the TiVa relationship will be resolved by the end of it (those two are so complicated!)**

**I hope it's not too out of character, I am a reasonably new fan to the series, but please review and tell me what you thought of it!**

**Enjoy.**

She hadn't intended to stay at work until late. Her new apartment was still flooded with a large number of cardboard boxes, and she had intended to continue unpacking them that night.

The paperwork that both Tony and McGee had eagerly placed on her desk had been finished long ago, her contentment at being re-instated as an NCIS agent having spurred her to work through the tremendous amount of files. She could feel the familiar presence of adrenalin coursing through her veins, and could sense each member of the team silently working beside her. Slowly, the ice cold feeling of loneliness that had been worming its way through her gut during the hellish interrogation she had been subjected to that morning was fading away.

McGee was squinting at his computer screen, hunched over what she assumed was an extremely long list of phone numbers. Gibbs was facing the television, regarding CCTV images with a hawk-like stare. And Tony was hunched over his desk, green eyes scanning a witness statement with careful precision. He looked older, she realised with a pang, wondering when his boyish demeanour had slowly ebbed away.

She had missed this, it seemed. She had forgotten what _friendship_ felt like.

The minutes appeared to fly by, and one by one her companions left. Gibbs was first, surprisingly, and he stopped to give her a suspicious glance on his way out. 'Don't you pull an all-nighter, Probie.'

_Probie_. It wasn't just a nickname, but more of a term of endearment. And although it was her instinct to back away from affection, she couldn't help but feel an invisible warm embrace wash over her. After all, ruthless assassin or not, she was human, right?

McGee left soon after, explaining that Abby was giving him a lift. His eyes were drooping with tiredness as he gave her a friendly smile. She was half-expecting Tony to make a suggestive remark about this, teasing the younger man in a brotherly manner, but it did not happen. The elevator doors slid shut.

And then there were two.

'You didn't have to do all of that paperwork, you know.'

She smirked. 'You will pay me back.'

He chuckled and rested his feet on the edge of his desk. 'I am sure I will.'

Her attention was briefly diverted to the pitter-patter of the rain against the window panels, washing away the dirt and grime that had accumulated there. It was the first time she had seen it rain in four and a half months.

'Did you miss it?'

Snapping her head back she saw him regarding her with one of his silly half-smiles. He wasn't referring to the weather, and she knew it.

For one fraction of a second, just before she answered him, she dared herself to take it all in – to check that it was real. It wasn't just the job she'd missed. It was the people. It was her team. Her _partner_. Tony.

It was strange, but even now that they had sorted things out- now that they were back to being friends again, there were things that had still not been disclosed, feelings that had not been discussed- not properly anyway. They had been there before Somalia, but they were different now. More subtle. More calm.

Whatever those feelings were, they made her feel frustrated whenever she looked at him. She wondered it he could tell.

'Hmmm.'

He grinned. 'That's not an answer, Zee-vah.'

'Fine. Yes, Tony, I did miss the stupid weather.' Now was probably the best time to leave. She did not want to talk, not after spending the whole day remembering. Slinging her rucksack over her shoulder, she made her way around the desk and towards the elevator. 'Goodnight, Tony.'

'I missed you.' It was just a statement, but it made her freeze and turn toward him, her dark eyes wide. He was still leaning back in his chair, but the laughter was gone from his expression. 'I…didn't have the chance to tell you earlier.'

Of course, she had known this. From the moment the foul-smelling sack had been wrenched from her head and she had been able to take in her partners face, equally battered, his usually kind eyes filled with more emotions than she could name, she had known.

'I missed you too.' With that, she swirled around and began walking swiftly towards the elevator, hoping that with every step, the painful lump that was rising in her throat would simmer down.

'Take care,' his voice reached her ears. 'That hot weather woman says there's gonna be one hell of a storm tonight.' He paused. 'And call me if you need anything. We're partners, right?'

And there it was. With those three words, she was able to identify one of those peculiar feelings.

It was shame.

_How could I ever have doubted you?_

A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped her face quickly.

'As I said before, you have always had my back.'

With that, she stepped into the elevator, and begun the journey home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Gah. I know it's been long (and if there are any of you guys who read my 'Bones' multi-chap, I'm sorry! I'm a bad, bad person, I should update more! And I will soon!) but anyway, here's chapter two of Absence Makes the Heart Grow Stronger. **

**Thankyou to those who reviewed chapter one, I find your comments most encouraging :) **

**O-okay. So this chapter is kind of angsty. I'm not quite sure I captured it right (apart from Zivas panic attack - I'm 100% sure that _that_ is captured right, I've experinced a few myself :P)**

**Enjoy! All reviews and friendly critiques are most welcome, so please stop by and comment ^_^**

'_I missed you.'_

She found that she was unable to tear her eyes away from the white tiles lining the walls of her shower, the droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes and running down her skin. The temperature of the water was almost unbearably hot, numbing her body and producing so much steam that her surroundings appeared hazy. She had a vague feeling tugging at her, one that told her she had forgotten something, and the familiarity of the simple thought comforted her somewhat. It was a feeling everyone experienced at some point, so at least in that aspect, she was not alone.

The first thunder-crack came just as she was exiting the bathroom, along with a split second of sharp light enough to blind her for a few seconds. For one awful moment, she mistook it for the crack of a whip – but then realised that there was no pain. Panic rose through her system, and her legs gave out beneath her. Her skin felt fiery, almost as if a fever was deep within her bones, and she felt her throat close up, making her feel nauseous.

It wasn't her first panic attack. She had suffered one twice before, both a long time ago now, but she recognised the signs immediately. A wave of shame washed through her as a small, sly voice in the back of her brain sniggered and told her that it was long overdue. Levering herself up off of her carpet, she wobbled towards the kitchen in search of a glass of water, trying to focus on not vomiting at the same time. When she had taken a sip, she pressed the glass to her cheeks, which relieved her sudden feverishness for a few seconds. But then she saw the phone, and the horrible feeling returned two-fold.

'_Call me if you need anything.'_

It made her want to cry. Because it was all she wanted – to pick up the phone, and to ask – no, _beg_ – him to come to her flat, because she really, _really_ couldn't stand to be alone. But she had been brought up to do the exact opposite, to fight, to kill, to survive. To forget.

So that was exactly what she would do. She would not cry. She would certainly _not_ beg. She would forget.

Another clap of thunder was both seen and heard, this time cutting off her power supply. The lights flickered for a moment, their eerie glow ebbing slightly, and then went out. Again, in her temporary state of terror, she could have sworn that she had seen Saleem's lanky figure illuminated by the flash, knife in hand and leering. In a moment of pure panic, she shrieked and ducked, curling her body up against the kitchen counter. The empty glass shattered at her bare feet, a thousand crystal blades ready to rip her skin to shreds if she attempted to move.

The panic was subsiding now, she found. Perhaps it was to do with the tears, running freely down her cheeks, she really didn't know. Leaning with her back against the cupboards, she found that she didn't really know anything – not really. Her thoughts and instincts had left her, leaving her completely alone.

_This is what going mad is like, isn't it?_

So she just sat there and waited.

* * *

It was just his luck, Tony mused, that straight after Ziva had left for the night, his gut began to tell him something wasn't quite right.

Well, that wasn't true. Hell, _of course_ something wasn't quite right – he'd known it from the moment his eyes had met hers, back in that filthy cell in Somalia. As much as the former Mossad assassin wanted to deny it, no human being could be so – _laid back_ – after being tortured for three months. She tried to hide it, he knew. But it was the little things that gave it away; her smile was strained and tired, her posture no longer straight, her eyes no longer bright. It made him ache inside, seeing a mere shadow of his friend.

_Friend. _For some reason, he hated the word. It was not enough, he knew, to describe her. Running his hands through his hair, he pleaded with his brain to stop. Whatever she was – however much he _loved _her, now was not the appropriate time. He clenched his teeth and growled with frustration.

Why couldn't his goddamn gut just shut the hell up?

Jumping up, he grabbed his rucksack and keys and got into the lift. In the distance, a low rumble warned him of the approaching storm.

Once in his car, he stopped to think again, wondering if what he was about to do was the right thing. He checked his phone, hoping that he had perhaps missed her call and that therefore he'd have a _real_ excuse to check on her. He sighed when this was not the case, but nevertheless, he started the engine and left the car park.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, he slammed his car door shut, and ambled his way up to the front door of the apartment block. _Not bad_, he thought, eyeing the building appraisingly. It seemed secure and reasonably sized. Ziva's new apartment was at the top, on the fifth floor, and he grimaced when he realised that there was no lift. Clearly, the place hadn't been designed with the elderly in mind. Taking the steps at a light jog, he arrived at her door slightly out or breath and had already knocked before realising that she had accidentally left her keys in the lock

He froze, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. After a lifetime's worth of ruthless physical and mental training, there was no way in hell that Ziva David would make such a petty mistake. With a sense of dread steadily filling his gut, he unclipped the safety latch on his gun and silently turned the keys with the other hand.

The darkness of the apartment enveloped him as the door shut with a click, shrouding him from the comfort of the hallway lights. With no signs of a struggle or break-in, he relaxed, letting his eyes readjust to the limited lighting before taking any action. Slowly, the contours of the furniture came into focus enough for him to realise that the lounge was to his left, and that the large, dark object a couple of metres away was in fact a sofa. He inched his way into the room and took a look around. Several boxes. A piano. A new television and DVD-player. All signs that Ziva had done what she'd said she'd do; unpack and settle in.

That still didn't explain the stupid mistake of leaving her keys out. Tony found himself briefly wondering what had distracted her so much, and then quickly tried to access another line of thought after realising that _Somalia_ was probably the cause. If that was the case, then he would be useless, 'cause truth be told, he was never really any good at _fixing _anyone. Bile rose in his throat as his imagination conjured up images of his partner – bleeding, broken, _screaming_ - shit, if only he'd been the one to shoot a hole through that _rat bastard's_ head! He uncurled his fingers from his gun, noticing that they hurt - his grip had been too strong. Perhaps he would have preferred to find someone breaking in after all. At least he would have been able to _do_ something then.

And that's when he heard it. It wasn't really a sob, he mused. More of a muffled whine – coming from the kitchen, which was straight ahead of him. Shuffling forward, he squinted in the darkness as to not trip over anything – or anyone.

He saw the glass first, three fairly large pieces of it surrounded be various little ones, though that was only at a first glance. Then he saw her feet, small and bare against the kitchen tiles. For an instant, a warm feeling trickled into his heart – he'd never seen Ziva's feet - they were so tiny! But then he slowly looked up, taking in her bare legs, still bruised from her torture, her shorts and large sweatshirt and then-

She was just sitting there, and there was something disturbingly calm about her position. Knees tucked to her chest, slender hands resting on them. It was the look on her face – or rather, the 'not' look on her face that made him bend down towards her and envelop her in a tight hug. That _awful _stare, as though she wasn't really seeing anything, framed by her tangled curls, her dark eyes wild with a mix of emotions. She was no longer crying, but the tell-tale streaks were on her cheeks, now as pale as a china doll's.

'_Oh, Zi!'_ he croaked, voice breaking. Tucking his arm underneath her knees, he picked her up off of the floor. She had yet to respond to his actions, and somewhere in the back of his mind, the little mischievous boy told him that if he had attempted to do this in any other situation he would have ended up on the floor with at least a broken arm. It _scared_ him when he lifted her up easily – she had lost weight – it wasn't noticeable at work, where she wore her usual attire of cargo pants and loose-fitting shirts. After manoeuvring himself over the shattered glass, he plonked her down on the sofa. Sitting her on his lap was a risk he was still not quite prepared to take.

Primly, she placed her hands in her lap, and bowed her head.

'I'm fine, Tony.'

Oh, so she _did_ know it was him. He smiled, settling for patting her knee gently.

'I know.'

_I really don't._

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, and it was only when she started to shake that he could no longer take it. He just couldn't stand watching her – his heart fracturing just seeing the big, fat tears roll down her cheeks. Moving quickly but gently, he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other round her back, burying his face in her damp hair.

It was only when he felt her hands, small and unsure, creep up his back and grip his shirt, and felt her hot face against his neck, her breaths coming in short irregular gasps, that he realised that she wasn't the only one shedding tears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, this is nice. I'm updating less than a week after my last update :D Record this moment in your minds, as I fear it will never happen again…**

**I was really pleased that so many of you liked the last chapter! Thank you so much for your feedback! Some of you asked me whether this fic was going to be more than just a two-shot, and the answer is a big YES. To be honest, I'm not quite sure how long it will be, no more than about ten chapters I think. But you never know.**

**So anyway, this chapter is more…violent? Yes, I think that is the most adequate word. Because I think that Ziva plus PTSD would equal an injured Tony :D But it ends on a lighter note, so I hope you enjoy!**

**Also, as I assumed that Ziva would instinctively curse in Hebrew, there are a couple of Hebrew phrases in the chapter, although at the bottom I have translated them. ****I hope they are accurate, please forgive me if they are not!**

**Reviews and friendly critiques are much valued! :)**

The first thing she noticed as she woke up was that she was sitting, which caused a momentary wave of dread to pass through her veins. The last time she had fallen asleep sitting up was….

_I am not going to even think about it._

Instead, she focused on the warm arm wrapped around her waist, and the rhythmic breathing at her back.

_Tony._

Everything came back to her at once, the thunder, the glass, _Saleem_. By the time she had finished her mental recap of what had happened, her skin was burning with shame. She had lost control. Panicked. Screamed. Sobbed. Even worse, she had been surprised in her own home, and had fallen asleep unarmed.

And her partner had seen it all. She wanted nothing more that to wrench his arm away and sit away from him. He should not have seen her in this state.

'You awake?'

So he wasn't sleeping after all. Trying not to look too eager to break contact, she eased her upper body away from his, shivering at the loss of body heat. Slowly, she turned around to face him, her gaze faltering only slightly when she was able to make out his eyes in the gloom. They contained no signs of mirth.

'Why did you come here tonight?'

A sad smile toyed at his lips. 'Something was up.'

She continued to stare at him, chocolate brown eyes boring into his. It was extremely important that he understood.

'What you saw tonight – I apologize. It was a loss of control. It won't happen again. I am very sorry you had to see it.' Patiently, she awaited his reaction – for the green eyes to light up with a fierce passion and for him to angrily disagree with her, or for him to nod curtly and change the subject. Either was fine, she thought.

'You're not a machine, Zi,' he said quietly. Her eyes widened, and she fought to keep her chin from quivering, gritting her teeth together so tightly they crunched. That had not been the reaction she was expecting. And she did not like it one bit. He hadn't understood at all.

Tony watched as her features grew dark and swallowed audibly. He had been expecting her to get mad, but knew that he had to force her to deal with it. Her nightmare would not go away, he knew, unless she understood that it was over.

'Did you not hear me well?' she spat. 'I said I was sorry. So just go home and forget what you have seen. For your own sake.'

For the first time, he was forced to admit to himself that perhaps what had happened in Somalia was only the catalyst of her breakdown. She had been brought up to snuff all emotion out, to kill and to forget. He'd never divulged what he thought about her childhood to her, because although he had made the occasional joke about it, in reality thinking about her life before NCIS made the bile rise to his throat.

'I heard you. But it's okay, d'you understand?' he grasped her face in both his hands, forcing the frantic eyes to look at his. 'Ziva, it's okay. It's okay. I know you've been taught differently, but really, it's okay. You can let go.'

His words rang in her ears. It had not been the first time he had used them.

'_Get it outta your system! Go ahead - do it!'_

She made a noise between a groan and a growl, and yanked herself away from him. 'The last time we had a conversation similar to this, I could have shot you!' she snarled. 'Do not,' she pointed a shaky finger at him, 'think yourself lucky a second time. Because trust me, you will not be as fortunate!'

He stood up, squaring up to her. The fact that she channelled her unhappiness into something as crippling and destructive as death threats made him _seethe_. 'So stick a dozen bullets in me, David. Sure as hell won't solve your issues-'

'Shut up! Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!' lunging at him, they slammed into the wall. '_Benzona!_ _Red li me'agav!_' she cried, ramming her fists into him, and he grunted in pain. 'I would not hesitate to kill you! You would die and I would not feel anything. _I never feel anything_!' Big angry tears rolled down her checks and she placed her hands on the wall behind him to steady herself. It didn't work, however, as she slid to the floor and, covering her face with her hands, cried at his feet.

It was a few seconds before he dared to move. She'd punched him half-heartedly, sure, but it had still hurt. His lip was bleeding and his stomach was throbbing as he eased himself down to face her. They both knew that the worst was over. There was simply no strength left for there to be another fight. Especially as they would both lose terribly.

It was a child he was staring at, he knew. He inner child – who knew if it had ever been expressed? He highly doubted it. 'Hmmm,' he half-sighed. 'You just _want_ that to be true.'

There was no reply, so they stayed in silence for a while, rain thrashing at the windows, illuminated by an eerie blue glow from outside. He must've dozed off, 'cause one moment she was still in front of him and the next she was leaning her back against the wall next to him, looking calmly in front of her.

'The thunder shocked me.'

That was all. He'd never dare to suggest that perhaps instead of 'shocked' she had meant 'scared'.

'Mmmm.'

'And I apologize for hitting you.' Short. Curt. Ziva-ish.

He smiled.

'Never apologize,' he stated, somewhat jokily. 'It's a sign of weakness.'

'I seem to have shown many signs of that tonight, yes?' she mumbled quietly.

'Not really.'

'You are the second man I have ever cried in front of.'

'First one?'

'Gibbs.'

He snorted. 'Figures. He always sees everything.'

She turned to look at him then, resting her cheek against the wall. They were close enough so that he could feel her breath fanning lightly across his face.

'Tony?'

She needed to tell him. It would hurt. But she would do it. Because she had never told anyone anything, not really. She was leaving something behind, starting a new life, and this one, she thought, would mean just a little bit more than the last. So she waited until he had mirrored her position, and his green eyes were gazing into hers. 'It was… rather awful,' her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. 'At first, they did nothing. They left me in a room – alone – for a long time. There was no daylight. Saleem would leave me bread crusts as food – old and mouldy. And water that had been drugged with something that paralysed my limbs. I lost count of the days very quickly.'

Their noses were almost touching, and even in the dim light, he could make out the lingering teardrops on her eyelashes.

'They whipped me many times – usually it was just Saleem, but his henchmen did it occasionally. Tied me up and punched my face, until my eyes were so swollen I thought I would never see again. Broke my fingers and reset them, only to break them again.'

She stopped, and turned away from him. It was only when she began to raise the hem of her sweatshirt up that Tony began to get wary.

'Ziva-'

The rest of his protest was cut short when he caught a glimpse of her back.

_Jesus Christ._

It was as though her olive skin was a canvas onto which an artist had carelessly painted one hundred streaks of crimson paint onto. The macarbre slashes varied in size, interweaving and overlapping, but the scabs were healing fast, and most of them were now gone, leaving behind tender pink scars. Her back looked like a battlefield.

The bile rose in his throat. '_Shit, Ziva_.'

'They will fade away, in time.'

He lets out a bitter chuckle. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Either way, the memory of it probably wouldn't.

'Please – _please _tell me you went to the hospital,' he half-wailed, dreading what the answer would be.

'There was no need, I asked Ducky to check my injuries.'

That reassured him. Ducky would be the person most likely to persuade her to go to the ER if he thought anything was seriously amiss.

Ziva gave her partner a watery smile, placing her hand over his. Tony's face was taut - his devastation displayed clearly, but it warmed her heart to show that he cared. 'It could have been much worse. They did not…do anything else.' She watched as he let out a relieved sigh, and felt his thumb rub small circles in the palm of her hand.

'Bastards,' he blurted out.

'Pardon?'

'Just because they didn't…you know…doesn't make them any better. They were still the lowest scum on this earth.' He gritted his teeth. 'And your _father_-'

'He is no longer my father. I do not think he ever truly was.'

He stared at her. There was a furious glint in her eyes. 'It sounds silly, I know, but out of everything that has happened, it is him that has made me angry the most.'

And suddenly he understood.

_I trusted my brother._

_I trusted Michael._

'You trusted him.'

'Yes. And he let me down. As he has so many times,' she cocked her head to the right. 'I cannot believe I was so _stupid_. He used me as a tool – _every time_ – yet every time I would believe that the next time would be different.'

'He was your father, and you trusted him. It's what family do.' He started to get up, but had to steady himself against the wall. That punch to the gut had kinda hurt.

'It is,' she agreed, standing up beside him. He noticed that she looked better. _At peace with herself._

'That is why I trust you.'

He chuckled, and slipped his arm across her shoulder. 'No,' he pressed his lips to her temple. 'That's why we trust each other.'

**There you have it : ) ****Please review and tell me your thoughts.**

**Translations**:

_Benzona!_ 'Son of a bitch.'

_Red li me'agav! '_Leave me alone.'

**These were found on an 'insults in hebrew' site. It appeared to be fairly accurate, however, as my computer has been fixed recently, all of my internet favourites have disappeared *sob* and even though I remember what these two phases meant, I have completely guessed which translation is for which phrase. But you guys get the gist that Ziva is pissed off, right? :D **

**Hmmm. I intend to include some piano playing in the near future :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I am alive. And I am truly sorry for not updating this fic sooner, as leaving you all hanging is a terrible thing to do. Over the last few months, apart from having to deal with the sheer hell of exams and coursework, my computer has been acting up, and over the last few weeks, I've had to depend upon my parents laptops to be able to have access to the internet, and have had no access to my own files *sobs*.**

**Thankfully, my computer has been repaired, I got it back yesterday, and I was finally able to access all my files, stories, and most importantly, catch up on new episodes.**

**Also, a very warm thankyou to all of you who enjoy this story, enough to wonder when the next chapter is going to be put up. This, however, is the last chapter for this story, but I am working on another 'Jet-Lag' fic, so I hope you enjoy that when it finally gets posted up!**

**Thanks, and enjoy!**

They stood like that for a while – he was surprised to find that she did not pull away. If anything, she leaned into his embrace. She brought her hand up to his cheek, her thumb mere centimetres away from his mouth.

'Your lip is bleeding.'

'You _did_ punch me in the face.'

'Let me go and get a towel and some ice,' she started off towards her kitchen, but he grabbed her arm.

'Whoa, whoa, whoa. There's glass everywhere, remember?'

She swatted his arm away nonchalantly. 'I am aware of that, Tony. But I think I can manage.'

And off she went, avoiding the glass with some sort of super-ninja manoeuvre which left him shaking his head in amazement.

_Talking really was the cure, huh?_

He squinted out the window, wondering if the power cut would last much longer. The dark sky was illuminated momentarily by lightning, and he saw the branches of the trees swaying with the force of the violent gale they were enveloped in. Suddenly he was tapped on the shoulder, and he almost jumped out of his skin, heart beating extremely fast. Ziva sniggered at his reaction.

'Give me a heart attack, Sweet-cheeks, that's fine.'

'Do not be such a child. Who else could it have been, if not me?'

He was all grumbles and groans as she proceeded to clean his lip, not wanting to admit the fact that he was basking in her attention. Her dark eyes were fixed on him, and he did not miss how her pupils dilated when a rumble of thunder was heard in the distance.

'I was afraid of storms too, when I was a kid.'

Her brow furrowed, and she placed a slender finger on his lips. 'Stop talking,' she ordered. 'You've made it bleed again.' She handed him a make-shift ice pack. 'I am not afraid of storms-'

'It's ok, Zee-vah,' he smirked. 'Everyone has _deep, dark_ fears.'

'I am not afraid!' she moved away and dropped down onto her sofa. 'I just do not like them. They make me feel sad,' she gave him a pointed look, which faltered slightly. 'When I was a child, I was very scared of them. To me, they were like un-controllable, un-preventable bombs. They could never be stopped, not even by humans. It would be more appropriate to say that I _do not like_ them.'

'There's no need to be ashamed, Zee-vah. When I was a kid, I was afraid of trees.'

Her look changed form dejected to mischievous in less than a second. No doubt, Tony thought, she found it funny.

_Well, good. That spark in her eyes…_

His throat closed up, as if an invisible hand had clamped down on it.

_I thought it would never come back._

Realising that she was now talking again, he quickly snapped out of his thoughts.

'Well, seeing as you are here, you may as well help me arrange all the furniture,' she smirked as she saw him grimace. 'No?'

'In the dark?' The whine in his voice was evident.

'Oh come on, Tony! I thought you were a man!' Quick as a flash, she hauled a previously unseen box at him, and watched with amusement as he failed to grab it before its contents spilled all over the floor.

'Crazy woman!'

The carpeted floor was now covered with thin glossy booklets and hundreds of white sheets. Tony couldn't control the grin that spread across his face when he realised what he had dropped had been several flimsy books containing piano music.

'Heeeyyy!' he swept some up in his arms before Ziva could pounce on them and hide them away. 'Now_ these_ are interesting.'

'Give them to me or I will castrate you.'

'Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, Yann Tiersen –oooh, Einaudi! I didn't know you had such a fine ear, my young friend!'

Defeated for now, she shrugged. 'You already knew I had a piano, why would I not have music to play on it?'

But her partner hadn't heard her, for he had crouched down and had begun to sift through the mass of paper, making approving noises every now and then. Slightly amused, she sat down tentatively on the edge of the sofa and watched him. It wasn't a something she had imagined – watching his green eyes light up with recognition as he read the titles of the pieces, handsome face serious with concentration and long nose almost against the sheets.

A wave of something suddenly took hold of her – she couldn't really describe it, only identifying that it was a warm kind of feeling that made her throat constrict and her palms tingle. She felt her face go warm, and cursed herself for blushing for no apparent reason. Thankfully, the man in front of her was too absorbed in his new-found treasure to have noticed anything.

He whisked around quickly, as though he had been aware of her thoughts, and she gave him a baleful look.

'Oh, _you're_ just annoyed that I found out about _all these!_'

She sighed. 'As I have said, Tony, it is no secret that I can play the piano-' stopping mid-sentence, she slunk forwards, one step at a time, with a playful glint in her eyes that made her partner become extremely wary all of a sudden.

'W-what?'

'Am I right in thinking that you played it too, when you were younger?'

Tony's wary expression didn't waver. 'Yeeeeahh…so?'

'Can you still play?'

'No way,' he paused. 'Not really.'

In one swift motion, Ziva was in front of him, whisking the sheets from his hands.

'Not really?' Her breath fanned his face lightly, and he bit his tongue, watching as the corner of her mouth lifted into that lopsided smile that he found irresistible. He licked his lips.

'I may have played a little in college. But you forget these things, with age.'

'Well, now is a perfect time to rediscover those dusty skills.' Before he could back away he felt the cool touch of her hand encircle his wrist.

_Aw, hell._

'I think you'll find you mean _rusty._ And no, as you've already stated, we're in the middle of arranging the furniture. _In the dark_.'

'I will play if you do.'

'Well I won't.'

'Fine.'

'..fine.'

'Well, _you_ can clear this mess up.' Ziva huffed. Now that the music had unintentionally been un-packed, she had the urge to play it. It had been a long time since she had last done so.

_Perhaps even before Michael._

She turned to look at Tony. To her surprise, he was sorting through the music daintily, organising sheets into various piles.

She smothered a laugh, quickly eliminating the tender look on her face as he glanced up. 'Maybe in the morning I shall check to see if pigs are flying outside my window.'

'Congratulations on the correct idiom. To what do I owe the pleasure of it being used?'

'Clearly I underestimated your organisational skills.' She indicated towards the piles on the coffee table.

'Well, if it's one thing my mother taught me, it was to never get your music sheets into a muddle. He replied, nostalgia tingeing his voice and flooding his mind. For a second he was six years old again, little legs swinging as he sat next to his mother on the piano stool and watched her play her beloved instrument.

'You never mention her much,' Ziva says gently.

He ignored her, clearing his throat quietly, and resuming his task, working though the sheets at a fast pace and quickly forgetting his surroundings. It wasn't until he heard a faint tinkle that he was drawn out of his reverie, and noticed his partner now sitting at the piano stool, long curls of hair winding themselves down her back, delicate fingers dancing on the ivory and ebony keys.

And then the music swept through him, its wave-like melody ebbing and flowing until all he could concentrate on was the next notes he could almost sense coming. He sat there awkwardly, eyes boring a hole into Ziva's back, and suddenly he was overcome with the urge to see her face and the look of concentration that he knew would be etched on it. The remaining sheet fell from his hand, making a quiet rustling sound as it floated to the floor. For one heart-stopping moment, he thought that she might hear and stop playing, but she was oblivious, and for that he was glad, for he is sure that he would have ceased to live if the music had stopped.

Silently, he began to make his way forwards, only stopping when he was parallel to Ziva. It was inevitable that she could see him – or perhaps not, as her eyes had glazed over, and her lips would twitch into a smile every now and then, indicating that she was in a completely different world. And she continued to play, the notes reaching a crescendo as she swayed ever so slightly, hair falling and masking her face.

Tony blinked, convinced his heart was breaking because the scene before him was just so breathtakingly beautiful.

But then the notes started to sound slow, and weary, and the magical creature that Ziva had become began to diminish and curl up inside her again as she neared the end of the piece. As the room and her surroundings began to come into focus, she became aware of her partner, now perched on the edge of her stool. His head was turned towards her, nose almost pressed against her temple, and as she let her hands gently fall from the piano, he entwined his fingers with hers, smiling against her cheek and whispering one word in her ear.

'Beautiful.'

It was hard for her to figure out how to react to this – already her skin was flushed and she felt that familiar tightness in her throat that indicated she was embarrassed. So she settled on the safest answer.

'Thankyou.'

'Teach me?'

She smiled. It was three o'clock in the morning, the storm had passed, and truthfully, there wasn't anything she'd rather do more.

**So, was it enjoyable? Please review, and tell me how you thought it was. **

**That, I'm afraid, is the last chapter of Absence Makes the Heart Grow Stronger! Thankyou all so very much for reading and reviewing, I have received very encouraging comments and advice, and I'm extremely sorry if I have not replied to your reviews with a thankyou message, it was due to my computer troubles. I'm currently working on another Tiva fic, hopefully it should be finished soon!**


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